Vincent sat in the airport lounge nursing his third drink and mulling over Gravestone's, too easy, acquiescence to their request for assistance getting home. Danzig loomed large in his worry file, and he couldn't seem to convince Harley that the guy was super dangerous. Harley felt that after Claude DeGeer, nobody could scare him any more. He qualified that when Vincent reminded him of Gretta and her own reaction to the name, Danzig.

"Look, Vince, Gravestone would be stupid to knock off the only guy that knows exactly where the treasure is, wouldn't he?"

"In a friggin' heartbeat! If Danzig finds us then the location will be known, make no mistake."

"I'm getting a little tired of hearin' about this guy. If he's so bad why don't we set him up and do him?"

"If only."

"That, or go straight after Gravestone and make him call the guy off."

Vincent started to laugh and then paused. Why not? Gravestone wasn't hard to get to. It would mean that there was only one way for it to end if they failed. Maybe Danzig would withdraw if he wasn't getting paid. It was better than running scared the rest of his life. "You may just have a plan there, Harley."

The flight was called, and the two men boarded feeling a little more confident, a little more prepared.

><><><><

Chester puffed anxiously on his unlit pipe as he listened with care to Gretta's report. The explosion had dropped a huge amount of earth into the hole, successfully protecting the treasure from casual, easy access. The Filipinos had been fed a line about new booby-traps that she had left in case they got any ideas about digging it up for themselves.

"You think that's sufficient?" He tapped the empty pipe in the ashtray out of habit.

"They aren't capable of doing anything alone and neither of them are the type to share."

"I wasn't thinking of them. Our man in the Philippines e-mailed this the day after you left." He tossed a printout on the table and she pulled it over. The text read:

'Two local, petty crooks were found brutally murdered on the property of the Love Pole Strip Club. Police learned that the victims, Han Pok and Peter Gnong, were cousins and both recently in the hire of two separate teams of Canadian hikers. Investigation has shown that all the Canadians had left the country and a formal request was forwarded to the ambassador to have the R.C.M.P. interview all the participants involved.'

"If you knew this already, why ask if what I did was sufficient?"

"I told you, I wasn't thinking of them. Strom and Vincent are more capable and they both know the location. That's my concern."

"They won't be going back any time soon now." She tapped the e-mail copy and slid it back. "Have you heard from the Mounties?"

"We were interviewed and have dispelled any awkward suspicions that might have arisen."

"So we're clear? No more poking around?"

"As far as we know it's all gone away, Gretta. You have no need to worry."

"So now what?"

"CONGA has been in touch with Philippine authorities and our representatives in Asia are working out an arrangement for when the treasure is recovered. We are retaining the actual location as a bargaining chip for future CONGA personnel to be allowed archaeological permits."

"Arny's right you know. It's all power and politics, wheeling and dealing in the shadows."

"It is what we do, my dear." He puffed with futility on his pipe.

"I know. It's what I tell him all the time." She slapped the table and stood. "Okay then, that's me finished. I'm heading home for a good long shower and a hot, home-cooked meal."

"I'll let you know how things turn out."

><><><><

Arny stood naked in the bathroom doorway, waiting his turn and watching through the clear vinyl curtain, as Gretta showered. She was too much into enjoying getting clean to bother teasing him with her usual scolding. He had listened to her tale about Pete and Han Pok and had insisted on her filling him in on the man called Danzig. Now he wished he had not; it only added to the stress he already felt over her work.

"Do you realize that from one letter, from a guy who was trying to do a good deed, eight people have been killed. Is that what CONGA calls a successful result?"

"Not the killings, of course," she called through the splatter of the water. "But the treasure will be returned to the rightful places."

"But eight murders!"

"No good deed goes unpunished, Arny. And they weren't all murders, thank you very much."

"Oh right. Two were killed by somebody else and one died in a booby-trap. Sorry."

The water stopped and a moment later she stepped out onto the bathmat.

"Hand me that towel would you please."

"I'll do that." He stepped forward and began drying her hair first and then down her body. She turned slowly into his arms and the towel fell to the floor.

"I'm all clean and you haven't showered yet."

"I'm all dirty and I need a cold shower." He slid his hands behind her and their bodies crushed together... a familiar fit, four years perfecting.

><><><><

Susan Duncan closed her ledger and sat back feeling the rush of a successful plan purring along exactly as she had envisioned. With Wayne's wife gone she was now in almost complete control of his life. Her decisions in his daily business dealings were being acted upon, and when she wanted something, he responded without argument. She closed her eyes and pictured the road to her future, one paved with power and financial security.

A knock at the door brought her back and she placed the ledger in her desk, locking the drawer, patting her hair and sitting up in an appropriately authoritative manner.

"Come."

James stepped in and closed the door behind him, staying next to it.

"James? What are you doing here?" She looked at her watch and then her desk calendar. "This is not Wednesday."

"I know, but I was wondering if we might change the day this week. There's something personal I need to take care of."

Susan formed a condescending sneer and leaned back in her chair, fingers laced in front of her stomach. "And you think your personal business should take precedence?"

"I think this time it does."

She perked up at his tone. What is this business you find so pressing?"

"It's my friend outside. He's dying to meet you."

Susan dropped her hands and gawked. "What? Your friend what?"

James moved aside and the door opened, allowing the tall man to enter, locking the door behind him. "His friend is dying to meet you, Miss Duncan."

She sat up nervously. "Who are you? Who is this, James? What's going on?"

"That's why I'm here, Miss Duncan... about what's been going on." Susan paled as the man sauntered toward the desk with a wary looking James in tow. "The lad's been telling me all about your Wednesday sessions. I must say, I found it hard to believe. I mean, you manage this long term care facility. People look up to you as a compassionate, understanding person, experienced in handling the emotional problems of grieving families and residents. And aren't you the partner and... what... lover, of Wayne Jenner?"

"I'm going to ask you to leave before I call the police, Mr....?"

"Strom. You can call me Jacob though, since we're about to become closer."

Susan picked up the phone and began punching buttons when Strom reached across and grabbed the cord, yanking it out of the wall. She gave a small squeal and looked at James, who in spite of his own uncertain look, smirked at her discomfort.

"You can't do this!"

"Watch me."

After a short time Strom left, pausing at the door. "Murder, suicide, I call it." Strom said, smiling with satisfaction as he let himself out of the office.